Outbreak
by ArbellaTempest
Summary: The good won and society is at peace. Unfortunately man is not alone with the ability to create destruction and fear.


_I do not own anything and give all thanks to JK for her talent and characters from where a beautiful world of creativity and wonder has bloomed. On that note I must also thank the countless fan-fiction authors whose stories I have devoured these past four plus years. I am one of the thousands of silent, shadow watchers, lurking at the very edges of this amazing community you have made. Which kind of sounds more scary than it actually is...hmm maybe I should work on that... But seriously I have loved reading your wonderful creations, giving thanks for your dedication and enthusiasm for my (and everyone's) enjoyment. Now, finally I have summoned the courage to dip in and write my own short story *cue nerves*_

 _Oh and my husband was my Beta... he isn't a huge fan, but the boy does know his spelling and grammar._

 **Chapter 1**

Later, Blaise remembered the whispers. Seemingly insignificant words of gossip drifting quietly by his cramped cubical. Subconsciously deemed unworthy of his consideration yet present nonetheless.

"sick,"… "simple charm,"… "suddenly"

Rarely bothered or interested by the idle chatter that constant swam chaotically throughout the Ministry, Blaise refocused, the soft scratch of his quill a welcome distraction. As with all unsuspecting moments proceeding a tragedy, just how significant those few words would be for his future was lost.

A second, more discernible hint came the next week. Two unknown witches joined him in the Ministry elevator. One, tall with strawberry blonde hair, was somewhat recognisable from the halls but failed to ignite memory of a name and as such was automatically deemed inconsequential. Blaise nodded politely but offered no attempt at conversation. He noticed however that her companion appeared clammy, an ashen hue adorned her completion with glassy red rimmed eyes.

It became obvious during the short, albeit fast, elevator ride the women's health was rapidly deteriorating. Leaning haphazardly against the wall, one shaky hand clutched desperately to a hanging gold rope, she began to cough. A horrible hacking noise punctured by her obvious embarrassment and desperate apologies. Blaise, while admittedly slightly repulsed, was unconcerned. The Wizarding World sat fortuitously sheltered from most contagious diseases. A request for a simple potion from Hermione was practically guaranteed to alleviate symptoms should he, by chance, catch this women's ailment. Even more serious infections such as Dragonpox and Spattergrott were incredibly rare and this women didn't appear to suffer from either.

At the sight of blood nevertheless he become slightly alarmed. Bright and crimson, it seeped through the pale fingers cradling her face. Recognising this she hastily removed her hand revealing blood streaked across her nose and mouth. Still intermittently coughing she began to cry as her friend started to panic. Quickly conjuring a crisp white hanky Blaise moved closer to the women, vanishing all present blood before offering her the hanky to soak up any more that may appear. With tear strained eyes she offered a small thanks before once again succumbing to a bout of coughing. Thankfully the elevator door opened and the friend ushered the women out into the arms of a waiting man.

"Mary, what happened are you alright?" With a panicked expression a small man's arm automatically encased the sick women but his eyes searched her companion for answers and it was she who replied.

"We have to get her to St Mungo's Reg, I don't know what's wrong with her."  
Nodding at this assessment, the man 'Reg' quickly began to escort both women toward the fireplaces. Blaise followed quietly behind inadvertently listening to questions being asked about 'Mary's' activities that day. Still unconcerned, Blaise leisurely stepped into a fireplace destined for Draco and Hermione's.

At first the idea of Draco and Hermione together had been hilarious. Everyone but the individuals themselves cackled themselves into hysterics. Well everyone except perhaps her two best boyfriends. Blaise imagined Boy-Saviour and Weasel-King probably hadn't taken the news very well. Oh to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. Even now, two years later, Potter could barely hide his dislike and Weasley tended to throw back copious amounts of Fire Whisky whenever he was required to be in Draco's company. Irritatingly this didn't halt there never ending presence at Hermione's side; they were loyal little fuckers, Blaise would give them that. But Blaise could also see how easy it was to give Hermione loyalty, over two years he had watched her ensnare and heal his war-damaged best friend until it was impossible to think of one without the other. She was family.

It took another two months for the press to identify Muggleborns. The rumour of a mysterious illness had circulated English Wizarding society but reactions ranged from mild interest to a blasé attitude. While most people knew of someone who was or had been sick, the exact nature of the illness was still quite obscure and since those infected appeared to recover no one was especially alarmed. The flu like symptoms were also comparably of little concern among a society where sprouting tentacles was a common result of a hex or potion gone wrong.

This all changed when The Daily Prophet published an explosive, expose involving a high-profile Ministry whistle-blower who revealed the real truth had been covered up. Somehow in a feat of unprecedented coordination, the British Ministry of Magic had succeeded in keeping the serious conclusion of the illness secret. The victims all currently of Muggle descent had lost their magic.

After reading the article at first he was livid. Well, he thought it was anger but the reality was more an ire based on pure terror. Two years previously, the concept of Muggleborns being struck down by a mysterious illness that stripped them of magic wouldn't have made much of a difference to Blaise. Sure he would have considered the notion strange, in a sad fucked up way he would have thought it made the previous two wars basically redundant, the epic loss of life more tragic. But now there was Hermione. And she was the bloody most famous em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Muggleborn/em in England. If what the Daily Prophet wrote was true would she also be affected? A magic-less Hermione Granger was inconceivable; she had more magic in her pinkie finger then most Pureblood wizards could ever dream of possessing. Of course she would be OK.

Disregarding the usual etiquette, Blaise stormed though Draco and Hermione's spacious house, morning paper still firmly clutched in his hand. He found her in the airy, modern kitchen dressed in a fluffy purple robe, hair a bushy mess. She also had copy of the prophet laid before her on the table.

"Tell me it's not true." She had obviously been expecting someone, her warm hazelnut eyes meet his.

"Then I would be telling you a lie". He sucked in a deep breath at her response, a stab of terror piecing his heart. He didn't want to ask his next question, did not want to know the answer. But it was the logical and most important follow on question.

"Are you sick?" He noticed in his peripheral vision for the first time her vine wand, sitting beside her on the table. His eye involuntarily moved toward it before re-seeking hers, realising she had noticed his eye wander with a flinch.

"Not yet." The words were whispered and shaky. They were words that held promise of an unsure future, a fate for his friend Blaise was struggling to imagine or conceive as a possibility. So he didn't ask the million questions swarming though his brain. He sat with a heavy thud in the opposite chair from her and said nothing. They sat in silence, an uneasy quiet, as she glanced unseeing out the window while he observed her. Then Draco appeared and headed straight to the witch he was devoted to. Blaise watched as Draco's arms encircled her shoulders and she subconsciously leaned further into his embrace. Draco looked toward Blaise, his grey eyes swarming with worry, pain and confusion. So from that crisp winter morning Blaise joined the wait. 


End file.
